


But For Now Let's Get Away

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aelin and Rowan get back into the swing of things now that they have a daughter to occupy their time. 50% domestic baby fluff 50% smut (requested by ignite-my-love on tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	But For Now Let's Get Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignite_my_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite_my_love/gifts).



> Title from "Roman Holiday" by Halsey

Aelin was tired, worn out, and she was sure she’d never gone so long without a bath in her entire life, but damn, did Rowan carrying their daughter in a wrap against his chest make her want to jump him.

Since neither of them wanted to leave Nehemia alone with a nursemaid, they took turns carting her around the castle, ever since she’d grown old enough not to rely on Aelin most waking hours of the day (which according to the baby, meant all of them).  Despite opposition from practically everyone (except Rowan), Aelin wasn’t about to sit around and let someone else take care of either her kingdom or her child, so she and Rowan worked on both.

Even though they still spent most of their time together, Rowan usually minded Nehemia for the first shift of the day.  Officials didn’t know what to do with him in meetings when he was stone-faced in all his six foot four, tattooed intimidation, a gurgling baby strapped to his chest who would inevitably reach up and try to grab at his chin with a wet fist.

Even though he’d repeatedly told her that he was just trying to be a good father, Aelin never stopped being amused at the sight of him glaring at someone across a table while Nehemia was just trying to tell her daddy how much she loved him.

As the day went on though, and feedings passed between meetings and letters and organizing the kingdom, it was hard not to fall into bed at the end of the day and want to do anything besides _sleep_.

Besides, their daughter was only a room away, and neither of them wanted to be loud enough to risk waking her up. Sleeping minutes were too precious.

One night, though, when Nehemia was full and went to bed without all the usual fuss, Aelin padded into the bathroom where Rowan was washing before bed.

She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to let her eyes linger on the swells of muscle over his broad shoulders as he washed his face, the tan, smooth skin that gleamed even in the faint light from the candle he’d brought in with him.

“You’re staring,” he said as he dried his face, voice muffled through the towel.

She sauntered up to him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his chest to look up at him. “Am I not allowed to ogle you like the laundress?”

She’d roared with laughter at the story of how Rowan had meandered down through the castle one day with Nehemia, pointing out the different sights, and had ended up startling a young laundress in the process. The teenage girl had simply taken one look at the fey prince with his daughter cradled in the crook of his elbow and had frozen with wide eyes and arms buried in a vat of water.

Rowan tossed the towel on the counter and ran his cool hands through her hair, thumb drifting over the slight point to her ears. An easy grin spread over his face, his eyes drifting across her features. “Only if I’m allowed to _ogle_ you.”

She snorted with laughter. “You’re not even denying the laundress story anymore, you narcissistic bastard.”

He didn’t even pretend to be insulted. “Should I?”  He leaned down to kiss her but she was still laughing through his lips.

“At least you still have women chasing after you,” she said, breaking away and running her hands up and down his back.

Rowan’s brows rose and he cocked his head. “You’re jealous of unwanted attention? You have _plenty_ of that.”

Aelin shrugged. “Not since Nehemia.” It wasn’t a secret that she was carrying more weight than she’d been before her pregnancy. Not that she’d go back—not for the world. But she missed the times when her back didn’t hurt and her breasts weren’t tender and when she could actually see the muscles in her stomach and thighs.

It was just a fact, and she accepted that. . . but she still wanted her old body back.

Rowan studied her for a moment, then brushed her hair back from her cheeks, thumb running over her jaw.  “You’re no less beautiful than you were before, you know that, right?”

She just stared at him.

A crease formed between his pale brows and she linked her arms loosely around his waist. “Really, Aelin, you’re beautiful. _Always_.”

He drew her chin up and met her halfway in a soft press of their lips together.

But she was still distracted. She believed that _he_ thought that, because she could tell he wasn’t lying, but that didn’t mean that _she_ believed it.

He drifted down over her cheek, palm pressing her closer as his breath tickled her ear. “I can prove it to you.  If you want.”

Aelin paused, her breath in her throat. His hand was smoothing wide circles over her back, holding her against him, but she knew the implications of what he was offering.

“Okay.”

He drew back, offering her a reassuring smile and taking her gently by the hand, lacing their fingers together. “Okay. Only if you’re sure. I’m not trying to rush you.”

She shook her head. “I want to.” His eyes were boring into hers, and her heart gave out a little at the worried undertones in them.

“Okay,” he said again, quieter, and kissed her again, quick and soft, before picking up his candle and leading her out to their room.

Nehemia was nearly five months old and they still hadn’t _done_ anything.  Aelin knew that Rowan had wanted her for a while, even if he never brought it up or even gave of any signs that he was thinking about intimacy. And for that she only respected him more, that he didn’t want to rush her into anything she might not enjoy full heartedly.

It wasn’t that she thought it would hurt (even though until a month ago, it probably would have) or that she was too tired to even think about the warm weight of him against her (even though fatigue was surprisingly effective at suppressing basically every drive she had). It was more that she almost didn’t even like changing in front of him.

For all her exhibitionist qualities before, seeing her body not the way she was used to seeing it, not having it muscular and ready for anything and nearly a perfect female counterpart to Rowan’s was almost intimidating. Especially when he looked like he was ready to tear a door off its hinges with one arm at any given moment.

There was a fire crackling in the grate across from their bed, casting warm shadows across the covers, but still, Aelin hesitated before him, letting him sit down first, then sliding onto the bed  next to him.

Her arms were surprisingly hesitant when he leaned in to kiss her, and it took her a few moments of his lips moving slowly against hers for her to lift them around his shoulders.

She let herself relax into the familiar motion of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue tracing over her lips. He was slow and careful, letting her call the shots.

Aelin deepened the kiss, slanting her mouth over his and running her fingers over the close-cropped hair at the back of his neck.

When he backed up to the wall, back against the pillows, she followed, and he helped her crawl into his lap.

They moved without any rush, his hands slipping under her shirt, warm against the skin of her bare back.  “I want you to be comfortable with this,” he said, pausing when she tensed up slightly. “If you aren’t, we’re stopping now.”

When she drew back and saw him looking worriedly into her eyes, the tension eased from her shoulders and she offered a slight smile, leaning down to bury her face in his shoulder, just wanting to be close to him, to breathe him in, to _rely_ on someone.

His arms wrapped around her, brushing her hair back from one shoulder. “I love you, Rowan,” she murmured and kissed the patch of skin her lips could reach. “I want this. We just need to take it slow.”

Rowan nodded, lightly caressing her back under her shirt. “Whatever you need.”

Aelin drew back, finding the hem of her shirt and starting to tug it over her head. She resisted crossing her arms over her belly.  She knew it was dumb of her to feel that way, knowing that Rowan didn’t care what she looked like, but that didn’t stop her from feeling it anyway, and knowing, really, that it wasn’t dumb at all.

He met her eyes, drawing in for a kiss that had heat rushing through her and her hyper aware of the way it felt to be pressed up against him, skin to skin.

His fingers found the knot in the loose tie around her breasts, only there for support now that she was nursing, and murmured if that was okay when he set aside the garment and pulled her more fully against him.

Heat was throbbing through her, and the breathless desperation she knew he was holding back wasn’t doing anything to help. When he bent his head to her throat and gently pulled her flesh between his teeth, she couldn’t help a slight moan.

She realized she wanted this, wanted _him_.  And the very real fact that their daughter could wake at any given moment had her reaching for the loose laces of his sleep pants.

“I thought you wanted to take it slow?” he murmured, a smile spreading against her throat.  His tongue reached out to soothe over his bites.

“We’ve waited for months,” she said and pointedly wrapped her hand around the hard ridge in his pants. “Besides, I don’t see you complaining.”

He huffed out a short breath and slid his hand down over the curve of her ass.  “Oh there’s many, _many_ things to complain about—” he started but Aelin only laughed and kissed him deeply.

“You’ll have to list your grievances at an official hearing, I’m afraid,” she teased as he pulled at her belt and ran his hands over the swell of her hips.

He let out a grunt. “I’ll honestly do anything if we could use your throne.”

One of Aelin’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve thought about that?”  She was more surprised that he’d thought about it in the first place than his admission of his fantasies.  They were far beyond holding such things back from each other.

He let out a helpless groan, his head thunking back against the headboard. “About you in my lap on your throne? You’re damn right I have.”

She laughed at his apparent frustration and pecked his lips, sliding off briefly to lose her own pants.

They’d had their fair share of fast and rough sex, the kind that had the bed rapping against the wall and moans reverberating through their chambers, but this was easy, comfortable, and when she finally slid down onto him, all the laughter was gone from them, replaced with groans of mutual satisfaction.

“I missed this,” she said, voice low, when she took a moment to adjust, his fingers caressing the back of her head.

“Me too,” he murmured with the slow grind of her hips.  “I didn’t want to rush you back into anything, but it was. . .” he let out a breathless laugh, “getting difficult.”

“I’m glad you did, though, for both of our sake’s.”

They fell into a steady rocking, her legs wrapped around his hips with their chests pressed together. She could feel the sweat beginning to dampen the nape of his neck, let herself fall into the rhythm of his breaths against her shoulder in time with his slow thrusts up against her.

“Rowan,” she breathed when she could feel the coil of heat between her thighs throb in insistence.

Instead of asking, she took his hand, moving it to where their hips met, whimpering when he immediately understood and found her clit.

A curse fell from her lips and every spread of nerves in her body was suddenly in tune with the tight circles of his fingers, the tension low in her hips throbbing with her pulse.

_So close_. . .

He groaned her name, dragging his teeth down the slope of her throat, and she was crashing over the edge, a quiet cry escaping, a sound that could have been his name if her tongue didn’t feel heavy in her mouth.

Liquid fire rolled through her and she felt him shudder a moment later, his grip on her hip tightening as he released himself inside her.

She stroked his hair as he leaned against her shoulder, breathing heavily.  “You have to remind me to make more time for this,” she murmured, provoking a quiet laugh.

“In the throne room?” he tried, looking up at her expectantly.

She kissed him and offered a sly grin. “Maybe.”

He rolled them onto their sides, pulling out of her and pulling the sheets over both of them.  “Mmm, I still love you.”

“Still?” she gasped in mock surprise, curling into his chest.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and come join me in my trashcan (of sin) on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


End file.
